The Pains of Reminiscing
by mediocrates
Summary: When her cancer relapses and she's left with a month to live, an old friend comes back to see Hazel. Hazel, swamped in nostalgia, writes a letter to the late Augustus Waters as she finally realizes what it was like for him. One-shot, took chap. two down.


**Hello, my dear and fellow fangirls. This is my first ever story, so please, come at me with the criticism. Reviews are gold.**

**(EDITED) Hey look I finally got around to rereading this! I honestly cringed, but whatever. I decided to use bigger words to compensate for the fact I had no idea what I was talking about.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Fault In Our Stars, because if I did I probably wouldn't be writing fanfiction about it. Maybe so actually. But still take my word for it when I say I have no affiliation with John Green or TFIOS (sadly).**

It was about a year after Gus's death that the Phalanxifor stopped working on me, and I felt really guilty because I was completely unworried about my now impending demise. Sure, I was sad because I would never see my parents or friend(s) ever again, but really that was only sympathy for them. My predominant reaction to this was a surreal giddiness at the fact that I would be joining Augustus Waters in capital-S Somewhere in just a few weeks' time.

It was also a year after Gus's death that I officially decided I'd gone off the deep end. Is my own painfully human hope going to overpower my inherent mistrust of the existence of a higher power simply because I want to see my late boyfriend again? Have I really missed him so much that I have become borderline suicidal, and really the only reason I haven't offed myself yet is the residual dregs of doubt about the actuality of a physical utopian afterlife?

The answer to both of those questions was still a mystery to me.

But I did know why I was so enraptured with this idea that death would solve all. Living had become too painful, too arduous, and it was frustrating when people kept telling me that I was strong. _I _wasn't the strong one in this situation; the chemicals the doctors gave me were. They were the only reason I was still alive, not my own sheer willpower. I couldn't cure my own cancer, even if I wanted to. And now no one could, and I was a lost hope, and that meant no more crazy treatments, which by default meant I could pass in relative peace.

Dying is scary. Scary is an epidemical understatement, I know, but I was terrified for the impending expanse of unknown. I suddenly understood Gus's fear of oblivion; the fact that I could just dissolve into nothingness after only seventeen years of existence made me weak at the knees. Except I was always weak at the knees, and everywhere else too. This was a side effect of cancer, and cancer was a side effect of dying. And that sucked.

But as much as dying sucked, it sucked more to have a child dying, I'm sure my parents came to learn. My doctor informed me and my parents that I had approximately one month to live. And I'll never forget how my father started _wailing, _like it was his life on the line, and my mother stared at me in shock with tears running down her face. I started crying too, not for me, but for them. I won't call it pity; that sounded to condescending. I was sad not because I wouldn't see _them_ but because they wouldn't see _me._

Somewhere around three days after learning The Big News, the nurse came in. "Hazel!" she said. Her voice was one of those perpetually cheery ones that made me want to puke. "Your friend—what's your name hun?—your friend Isaac is here!"

I sat up a little straighter, even though I didn't have much energy to spare. Isaac had gone MIA after Gus's funeral. I hadn't seen him in months. It wasn't like we hadn't tried to hang out, we just realized that Augustus was our glue and without him we drifted apart.

Isaac came shuffling in, his cane poking the ground in front of him to compensate for his blindness. "Hazel?" he asked.

"I'm right here, Isaac." My voice wavered. It always did.

He abandoned the cane and felt around until he found the foot of my hospital bed. Hesitantly, he sat down, his gaze focused on what I'm sure was what he thought was where my face was but was actually just the wall. Gnawing on his lip, he asked, "So, how are you faring? No, forget I asked that. That was a retarded question; you're dying, of course you're not fine. God, this is awkward. Oh, shit, I intensified the awkwardness when I said that, didn't I? Damn, damn, damn, I wish I could see people's expressions. Damn."

I smiled, and since he couldn't see that, giggled softly. "I'm really good Isaac. My misfortune, I think, has finally hit a plateau." By reflex I went to push my hair behind my ears with the hand that didn't have an IV in it. Then I remembered I didn't have any hair. "How's your life going?"

"Well, the administrator at the front desk asked the same question and I said, 'Oh I'm peachy, how about you?' but when I said that I felt like such I liar I think I realized how un-peachy I actually felt. So yeah, Hazel, I feel incomplete. I feel physically, emotionally, metaphorically, and mentally incomplete for a variety of reasons. Reason one: I'm blind, but if you'll believe it that's not actually the forefront of my problems. Reason two: my only two friends are biting it from cancer." I felt a little flattered that I was qualified as Isaac's friend. I guess when two people lose someone as resonate as Augustus was, it was the kind of relationship that didn't die.

"I know. Me too. I'm tired of people overestimating me. They forget I can barely feed myself."

"Exactly!" Isaac exclaimed. "Well, I can feed myself, as long as I have a detailed idea of where the actual food is, anyway."

We went on like this for a long time, just talking about Isaac's school and Gus and how Monica came crawling back to him but he declined her sorry ass. Eventually he had to leave.

I asked for a laptop. I figured since I never really got out enough to make people friends that I could counterbalance the lack of companionship with a machine. And that was depressing in and of itself, that I was actually substituting a computer for friends, but what really got me was when Mom came and gave me my laptop from home and the Wi-Fi in the hospital was too damn shitty to establish a connection.

I played Solitaire for about twenty minutes (and also discovered I hate Solitaire) before surrendering and going onto a word document to write. And I wrote what was probably a death note, but it can't be considered a death note if it's to a dead person? No, that made it a delusion.

It read:

_Dear Augustus Waters,_

_I understand you will never read this, and this is just a dying girl's daydream. But I just need something physical to represent how much I loved you, how much I still love you. There aren't appropriate words to describe how much I care for you. My love, cheesy as it sounds, could metaphorically (you loved your metaphors) be used to power a machine that shifted the trajectory of the planet Jupiter. God, I never said that enough. I love you, Augustus. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, all in the present tense because my sheer adoration never falters. Even in death, if I am still capable of emotion, I will love you._

_I don't think you understood just how wonderful you were. Are. You are gorgeous, and witty, and intelligent, and rebellious, and sweet, and caring, and giving, and funny, and I will appropriately reiterate gorgeous. I remember the time when you took me on a picnic and organized that whole Amsterdam-themed meal. It tasted horrible, but the fact that I shared it with you and only you made it one of the best moments of my life. All of the best moments of my life occurred with you. You as a whole were the best part of my life. Shh, don't tell my parents._

_I am getting weaker by the minute, but this isn't about me. I'm dying anyway, a little discomfort shouldn't matter in the scheme of things. I think the only one that understands the extent of my feelings is you, because you reciprocated them. I am the luckiest girl in the world, Augustus Waters, you know that? I am so lucky, because I am seventeen years old, have had cancer for around four years now, but I knew you for those few months, which is more than most people can say. You deserved to live a fuller life, but I will NEVER regret meeting you._

_I don't want you to think you were a grenade, because you _weren't. _Everyone who ever met you is so lucky to have just talked to you, and this grief is just, like, payment for knowing you. And if I had to choose, I would never choose to take any of it back. I can't bring myself to want to forget you. You are too special to be forgotten, Gus. I wish I could tell you that in person. I. Can't. Forget. You. I can't forget the way you insisted on calling me Hazel Grace, the way you could have charmed the pants off Adolf Hitler, the way your laugh seemed to roll off you in these infatuating waves, the way you put others before yourself, the way you flirted, the confidence you emitted._

_You didn't leave scars, Augustus Waters. You healed my wounds._

_With all love,_

_Hazel Grace Lancaster_

_PS: Okay?_


End file.
